


Thou Little Tiny Child

by ravendiana



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Violence against Children, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravendiana/pseuds/ravendiana
Summary: The workings or mortal minds and hearts are strange enough, how much more so those of eternal beings, who have lived through all the lives of mankind.  The mind can be full of tripwires and sinkholes that catch you, even when you think you feel fine, when you are happy even.  Even the triggers can be shifting and changing.  Something as simple as an old, old carol, heard thousands of times before, can suddenly pull the world out from under unsuspecting feet.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	Thou Little Tiny Child

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley saves some kids, but not all of them.

"This kind of torment is what comes of defying Hell to be with an angel," Crowley bemoans his fate. Granted the torment in question would generally have been considered mild by hell's standards. He is currently carrying enough packages that he has to use a minor miracle to keep them balanced. He's following Aziraphale through the "Angel's Christmas Market" in Hyde Park. The name isn't a coincidence, Aziraphale had helped get the thing started and absolutely adored it. Given that it was less than a 10 minute walk from the flat, Crowley couldn't really beg off. (Not so) Secretly he's enjoying watching his angel enjoy himself, he always loves seeing Aziraphale happy. 

Still he is about to lose control of the pile of purchases, and the flat was not far away.  
"Angel, I think I'm going to nip back home and drop these off. Won't be a tick."

Aziraphale has caught sight of a stall selling churros, which are still not often to be found in London, and makes a distracted sound of agreement. Crowley chuckles and heades off in good spirits. The workings or mortal minds and hearts are strange enough, how much more so those of eternal beings, who have lived through all the lives of mankind. The mind can be full of tripwires and sinkholes that catch you, even when you think you feel fine, when you are happy even. Even the triggers can be shifting and changing. Something as simple as an old, old carol, heard thousands of times before, can suddenly pull the world out from under unsuspecting feet.

Maybe it is all the news on the telly. No huge prophesy needed to make humans act beastly to each other, after all. Kids in cages all over the world, in the old places where the only change is who is on which side of the fence, Palestine and China, and places like America that seem determined to make up for the late start. It is so hard to hear, over and over, they just never learn. As he walks through the happy market, people celebrating obliviously or defiantly (it looks the same from the outside), he passes several groups of carolers without hearing them at all. Somehow this song winds through the air, into his mind, and back into memories that have the dull cast of nightmare.

> Herod the king, in his raging,  
>  Chargèd he hath this day  
>  His men of might in his own sight  
>  All young children to slay.

The bright night market fades into another long ago daytime one. His bundles fall from nerveless hands and knees go out from under him. He hits the ground hard and there is shouting around him. (The people shouting and running, parents clutching their children.) There is chaos around him and he can hear running feet. (The clatter of armor and nail studded sandals on the stone.) He needs to get up, needs to move, there is an angelic presence nearby, hands grasp on to him. (There is an Archangel manifest nearby, if he is caught here he might be destroyed, but he has to do something.) He fights the grip on him, filled with terror and purpose. He gathers himself to slid into scales and slither away. The hands are arms now, encircling him and pinning him. His terror is rising, there is a voice in his ear, but words have deserted him. There is a sound like a small snap of fingers, like a crack of lighting and everything goes still. 

"...here, everything is alright. Crowley, it's just me. I've got you. I'm here, everything is alright. Crowley, it's just me…" The words filter slowly into his consciousness. Aziraphale. Aziraphale is holding him, fingers carding through his hair, and talking to him. He opens his eyes slowly. They are on the bed in the flat, packages scattered around them. He tries to remember how they got here. They had been at the market. Slowly memory trickles back and he groans in embarrassment. Aziraphale's litany stops. 

"None of that, now, love," the angel admonishes. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't hurt me or anyone else. Can you tell me what happened?"

Crowley starts to shake his head, but he's never really been able to deny Aziraphale anything. "I honestly don't know if I can. I'll try. It was just a song. I've heard it thousands of times. I've sung it. But this time…" He shakes his head. "It just threw me back. Happens sometimes. I've been there for a lot of terrible things, we both have."

"And it was a carol that brought this one back?"

"Remember you told me to get out, after He was born. Whole place was going to be crawling with angels."

"I do remember," Aziraphale says softly. Crowley nods and licks his lips.

"I was about to leave when Hastur showed up. Said something was up, whole lot of killing about to happen, but hell wasn't happy about it. Mostly kids. Hell doesn't like killing kids, they're still innocent, go straight up." He gestures upwards and makes a shhwwwoooP sound. "They thought maybe Heaven was moving up their timetable, skipping all the miracles and teaching bits and going straight for the sacrifice. Wanted me to take a look. Didn't get very close though, Gabriel was already there, getting them out. But that was it. Just them snuck out, no help for any of the rest of the people. Got a kid the same age? Too bad for you. It's fine though, going to heaven right? So no matter if they don't get a life." He scoffs and Aziraphale winces, it's an accurate representation of heaven's attitude.

"Found a cave under an abandoned house. Managed to get a few families down there. Not enough, not nearly enough. But the streets were full of soldiers by then. Couldn't risk moving anyone else. Got them hidden deep inside then just lay in the sun across the doorway. Nobody in there! Clearly the lair of a bloody great snake. Should probably do something about that later. Not safe around the kids (at least the ones we don't kill today). The streets were full of people running, screaming, dying. It's amazing that such little bodies can hold so much blood. And all I could do was lay there and watch and listen. Protect the few I had grabbed."

Aziraphale's arms are still around him, holding him tightly. "You did more good for those people than Heaven. Because you see them as people, not as assets waiting to be divided. I think you are the only other one that does, heaven certainly doesn't. I love you so much, my dear." 

"Hell doesn't either, but leastways Heaven leaves them be, once they get there. Maybe they are right. Maybe if Hell ended up with them, I didn't do those kids any favors after all."

Aziraphale shakes his head. "Not to harp on free will, but they have to make their own choices. Isn't that why She set this up in the first place? I know how you feel about ineffability, and I'm not saying it's a choice that anyone ever ought to have to make, but you gave them a chance. What they did with it was their choice." 

"Still. What good is saving them now, if they only suffer so much more later?"

"The good is doing what you can, my dear, and giving them the world, while they have it. The rest is, well, for tonight let us say the rest is a problem for later. You are too tired for it now, and nothing is changing while you rest."

He frees one arm to pull back the covers on the bed and manovers them both under them without letting go. Once they are under the covers a miracle rids them of their clothing till they are pressed warm skin to chilled, and soft fingers in his hair and loving words in his ears lull Crowley to rest, his angel set to guard his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Waywren Truesong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywren/pseuds/Waywren%20Truesong) for beta and help putting a ramp on the cliff I'd left.


End file.
